Shattered
by OblivyChan
Summary: Dr. Spencer Ried is broken. Giving up his syringe for the blade, addiction is taking its toll on him.
1. Chapter 1

Shattered

Reid says;

Who is more foolish, the child afraid of the dark or the man afraid of the light?

~Maurice Freehill

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

Depression distorts your thinking. When you are depressed, your mind can play tricks on you.

He recited the fact over and over again in his head, as though he was reading it straight from the encyclopedia. His mind edged away from sanity bit by bit, slowly pushing him into the darkness he knew once a long time ago. Memories engulfed him, of his youth, of his teenage years, of now in his early adulthood. He felt his shoulders slightly bend down, weight crushing his back towards the earths ground. He cradled his head in his hands, taking deep long breaths.

_Difficulty concentrating, remembering details, and making decisions_

_Fatigue and decreased energy_

_Feelings of guilt, worthlessness, and/or helplessness_

_Feelings of hopelessness and/or pessimism_

_Insomnia, early-morning wakefulness, or excessive sleeping_

_Irritability, restlessness_

_Loss of interest in activities or hobbies once pleasurable, including sex_

_Overeating or appetite loss_

_Persistent aches or pains, headaches, cramps, or digestive problems that do not ease even with treatment_

_Persistent sad, anxious, or "empty" feelings_

_Thoughts of suicide, suicide attempts_

He rubbed his face with his long tanned fingers, taking in now shaky breaths as he recalled the event that brought him to his knees. What was it that made him this way? Pressure at work-

_54% of Americans are concerned about the level of stress in their everyday lives, with thirty percent considering their stress levels as "extreme"_

_62% of Americans hold work as having a significant impact on stress levels._

_52% of workers consider work more stressful than home_

_66% of American adults suffer from stress induced chronic health condition_

Maybe it was genetics, reason why he felt like this. His family history maybe to blame.

A family history of depression points to a greater likelihood of developing depression. But just because there is no family history does not automatically mean you will never experience depression; it can show up in anyone

Perhaps it was his memories? The bad ones that plagued him so bad it made him sick-

_Chronic or life-long (endogenous) depression is caused by trauma in childhood which includes: emotional, physical or sexual abuse; yelling or threats of abuse; neglect (even two parents working); criticism; inappropriate or unclear expectations; maternal separation; conflict in the family; divorce; family addiction; violence in the family, neighborhood or TV; racism and poverty._

And his new family. How did they accept him? He was outcasted for his eidetic memory, tortured by his peers for knowing so much at too young an age. His friends, they were his family, his everything. He couldn't live knowing if any of them were in trouble. He wouldn't be able to grasp onto reality anymore. He took in a deep breath in a sudden comfort, knowing his friends weren't the ones who were captured; none of them were taken and tied to a chair and tortured. Memories flooded through him, memories of Henkel, memories of him being strapped to a chair, beaten ruthlessly where he died. Then only was he resuscitated back and brought to hell again. He needed help, he knew it. No one walks back from torture left unscathed. But he sure as hell acted like he was okay as best as he could.

Bringing up his razor, the neat blue handle that fit in his hand, it's silver blades glistening. The past brought pain, the past brought back the torture he didn't want. It brought back...

Deep red gashes covered his arms, lacing up onto his forearms. He was careful not to hit any vitals, careful to not hit where he would bleed to much and wouldn't be able to cover it up. He stared at his bleeding arm, watching as unsteady blood droplets course down tan skin, thrown onto the white tiles of his bathroom. Pitter patter like rain against the window echoed from his life spilling onto the floor, a soft symphony of relief flooding his veins. The weight crushing his back lifted slightly, focusing on the trauma on his arm. He took in a deep breath of air before the weight slowly drifted onto his shoulders again, and he was slowly bending to the earth. He grabbed a red cloth from his sink-a cloth he used whenever he cut for the point that it was red and wasn't to noticeable if some crimson got on it-and wiped up the floor, flopping the cloth back onto the pearl white sink. He sat up, grabbing the stained razor and numbly washed it off, placing it within his soap dish that was located above his white bath tub. He grimaced at the purity of the color-

_Brides wear white to symbolize innocence and purity. White reflects light and is considered a summer color. White is popular in decorating and in fashion because it is light, neutral, and goes with everything. However, white shows dirt and is therefore more difficult to keep clean than other colors. Doctors and nurses wear white to imply sterility._

vowing silently that one day he'll add some more color-preferably red or purple. He looked himself in the mirror, looking over scary gaunt eyes, little brown coloring dazzling the middle of them. Skinny boney cheeks stretched his thin skin, his bones looking more prominent. Reid backed up as realization slapped his face.

Depression may also accompany an eating disorder. In Heinberg's practice at the Cleveland Clinic, patients with anorexia nervosa are often depressed.

He was getting the symptoms, no. No he wasn't. He shook his head, he didn't have depression. No, he just felt sad. Yes, that's what it is. He just felt sad for a little bit and needed release, so this was a good thing. He was doing good.

_The Greeks attributed depression to an overabundance of black bile in the body, and mania to yellow bile. They believed bleeding or purging helped the system regain balance._

Staring at the skin and bones that became him, he forced a smile onto his lips. He had to go on living as though nothing ever happened. He had to act as if everything's okay. It was the only way, the only way he was going to keep on living and hold on to that small shred of sanity. He had to brace himself for happiness, act as if he was. He must keep smiling. So with a wave of guilt clashing in his chest, he cleaned off his arm and wandered into his beige colored living room, flopping down on his black leather sofa seated before a small television. All around his room books were stacked knee high, his shelves filled to the top with leather bound worlds. Reid felt his body boil over with sudden heat, trying to melt the thick chunk of ice that had become his heart. But there was no way, and the heat only ended up hurting him, burning his already bruised veins and making his movements suddenly spazzy.

The young profiler curled up on his couch, curling into a ball and staring at his white carpeted ground. Simply staring, he found no sleep or peace whatsoever. He could escape this world if only he could sleep, if only he could drift into a peaceful slumber that wasn't filled with terrors or demons. It would be of soft things like clouds and miles of long grass. But, in his state came this pathetic insomnia that numbed his eye lids and kept the monster within awake.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

He was quick with work, hands flying over the small white sheet of paper as he scratched on the graphite words determining the last case. He was nervous, his shoulders slightly hunched down as he tried his best to look engulfed in his work. His colleagues had worked some, usually taking periodic breaks and asking him if he wanted to go with them to the break room or if he wanted anything to eat or drink, at which he politely declined. Reid would occasionally get the feel that someone had their eyes on his back, and instinctively would pull at his right sleeve, making sure no one could see the broken man that he was now. After he stacked the last of the white papers, pushing them into his manilla envelope. Careful chocolate eyes scanned over the cracks of his desk, spying other identically made tan desks with large screened computers in front of blue reflected faces. It seemed some of his teammates were missing, all in an exception to Emily Prentiss-a thirty year old woman with a stubborn attitude and a hard stomach and the "favorite child" of their team. She ran slender fingers over shoulder length black hair, shifting the papers around on her desk. Reid stacked his envelope once more before getting up from his desk, backing his office chair back.

Slowly he made his way out of his desk, up some stairs and away from the bull pen made up of his and his colleagues desks. Walking quickly down the hallway fat wrapped around the bull pen, he opened up his bosses door, shuffling inside.

His boss Hotch-the "father" of the team, a hardened man with slick black hair and matching coal eyes- was seated behind his large dark brown desk, papers skewed all around it. He glanced up, taking a deep breath before laying his papers back down. Hotch's steely eyes rested on the small boy, almost as though as he was gazing into his soul.

"Um..." Reid quickly set the papers on his boss's desk, backing up slightly. "It's done."

Hotch raised a suspicious eyebrow, opening up the envelope and glancing through a few papers before stacking it to the left of him. He nodded at the young profiler. Reid smiled, turning around quickly.

"Wait, Dr. Reid" Hotch's cold voice scared the young profiler, adrenaline racing through his veins. "Sit."

Reid obediently turned around, closing the door behind himself and sitting at the blue chair his boss offered. Hotch took in another deep sigh as he clasped his hands together, staring deeply into the boys eyes. Reid felt his boss was violating his personal space, although he wasn't any closer to the boy than before.

"Reid," his voice softened. "Is something wrong? Trouble with your mother?"

He shook his head, remembering quite well that his mother had been actually very well through the passed few months. She was eating and actually participating in her therapy sessions. And whenever he called her she was very cheerful. "No, why?" He asked.

"We'll it seems you've been really tired and I was wondering if you were okay, I want my team at its best" Hotch said.

"Uh...yeah. I-I haven't been getting good sleep, I've been reading a new series and it's been keeping me up late" he said then laughed nervously.

"Oh," Hotch's eyes brightened a little as he leaned back in his leather black chair. "What's the tittle of the book?"

Reid stared at his boss. Yeah, what was this interesting book that captured the genius into reading? Why was it so important? He could tell his boss a series he had already read, the boy genius had literally read thousands of books so why couldn't he name one series off now.

"Uh...mm..." He bit his lower lip. His boss sat up.

"You know, Reid," he said. "You can tell me anything."

"Yeah, of course!" The young genius smiled half heartedly, bouncing up from his seat. "I'll make sure to do that if anything comes up, but I really have to run."

He half ran out of the office, almost running into the strong wall of meat himself, Morgan. The strong agent caught the young genius by his right arm before he hit the floor, making sure his friend was safely balanced before letting go. Reid felt a whimper escape his lips as pain lashed down his arm, his skin burning. The strong agent looked over his friend, noticing the curtain of curly brown hair lower over his face. Confusion swept over the agent as he stepped in front of his friend.

"Hey pretty boy are you okay?" He asked, his voice lowering a little.

Reid took in a deep breath, suddenly laughing a little and bumping Morgans arm. "Watch out you almost ran me right over!" Morgan smirked and patted his back.

"We'll don't come out so quickly and maybe we won't have a accident pretty boy" Morgan laughed. "By the way, I wanted to know if whether you're coming with to the bar, get a few drinks maybe?"

Reid shook his head. "No, I'm good."

"Come on man! Just one night! It'll be fun" he smiled.

"Nah, I'm okay" Reid smirked, pulling away from Morgan and towards the elevator. "Maybe some other time!"

"Sure pretty boy!" Morgan kept up his smile until the elevator doors shut. A sudden melancholy feel fell upon the agency.

"Something's wrong with him" Morgan stated.

"I asked him why he was so tired," Hotch's voice melted into the quiet room. "He made up an excuse that he was reading a series he really liked and when I asked him what series it was he went silent."

"Yeah and every time he gets up he scopes the place and runs off to turn in his paper work" Prentiss said.

"He also won't accept my offer for any coffee with fifteen packets of sugar in it" the nervous soft tone of Garcia also joined in. Despite her colorful neon outfit, even she wasn't enough to brighten the room up.

"Please guys," JJ sighed, sitting in her seat with a warm coffee in her hands. "We can't profile him like this, it's just wrong and work needs to stay at work."

"JJ-" Hotch frowned.

"But, as his friends, we need to help him" JJ finished.

"What so you suggest we do? Break into his house and try to force him to tell us? He wouldn't talk to us ever again" Prentiss folded her arms across her chest.

"No, we could ask him nicely and maybe have just one of us do it" JJ suggested. "It'll be less harder on him and it'll get him to spill."

"Our poor little man" Garcia clucked her tongue.

"If anything let Garcia go" Hotch stated.

"Why me?" The woman in neon yellows and lime greens red lip dropped open.

"Because you're the least threatening out of all of us. If it'll help Morgan can go with you, but he can't know Morgan is there too. Try to get him to talk and don't push him, alright?" Hotch crossed his arms, the little plump woman nodded her head vigorously.

"Come one baby girl," Morgan cooed. "Lets go make sure our genius is okay."

* * *

Reid sat down at the edge of his rubber red seat. He couldn't go home, it held a sickening scent of blood that sent him running from his own home. Even the tiniest of that scent, of his own blood, made him either want to draw more of it out, or vomit. Either way he was sick, sick and tired.

People who are depressed are more than four times as likely to develop unexplained fatigue, and those who suffer from fatigue are nearly three times as likely to become depressed.

He rested his head on his palm, wiping away some sweat that was beading down his face. He felt worse ever since Morgan tugged on his scarred right arm. It's been burning periodically, turning red as blue veins popped up from under the skin. Staring at it, he knew he would most likely need it to be checked out. But no doctor would let him leave without getting help first. He felt another sting run through him as he winced, watching as a glass was suddenly placed in front of him, startling him. It's tall glistening transparency held a sort of tan glow that brimmed white at the top. Reid looked up at the Italian bar keeper, his hand stuck in a glass with a white cloth, cleaning it off. He smiled as his black mustache lifted a little, amber eyes glowing in a kind gesture.

"Looks like you need a drink" his deep gruff voice filled the quiet room.

"Yeah" Reid agreed in his small voice, taking a sip of the brew. He felt his nose twitch at the taste, it was bitter and held no appealing flavor in it whatsoever. How were these ever popular?

"The man over yonder paid for the drink, says you been hard at work. You guys coworkers or somethin?" The bar man asked, gesturing to a business man seated at the end of the cherry wood bar. Reid shrugged, not recognizing him at all.

"Never seen him in my life" Reid replied.

"Interesting" the bar keeper raised his big black eyebrows, placing his glass back in a small stack of glasses.

Reid took another sip of the poisonous brew, feeling the taste slowly melt away as his mind went numb. He smiled, a little hazy from the drink. With his mind loosened he began to relax in his seat. He felt more relax than he did in months, years even. He wasn't one to drink, or even get drunk, but he felt his life was already in hell, he's suffered so much. He deserved a little fun, although he knew alcohol was a depressant. Not much of a happy addiction, but neither were drugs...

_He felt his mind racing, heart beating rapidly through his veins as Tobias injected the drug into his system, cooing the young profiler and telling him it was going to be all right, it'll take away the pain. Oh how it felt to be free from his body, that little bit of freedom as he drifted into his past and saw happier and sad moments. To live with his mom again, being hugged and kissed by her as he read thick books to her. How relaxed he was when he finally let go..._

_And cutting was his new found addiction..._

_He was overwhelmed, a few days had passed since his abduction. A few days since he was being forced to shoot up drugs, since he was beaten, since he had lost sanity. He rocked inside his bathroom, head buried in his arms as he stared at the ground. He was panting as memories of his last nightmare plagued him, sending him to the edge as he felt a wave of nausea flood him, bile crept in the back of his throat. The young profiler wasn't to sure on what gave him the idea to do it, it was all sudden. Like he was letting something else take control. Without another moment to spare, he noticed his razor he uses to shave his face positioned right above his right wrist, barely a centimeter away from it. Frustration and silent fear chilled his veins, did he really want to do this? Did he really want to end an addiction only to start a new one? The razor clashed down into his skin, digging as pain racked him, his body swaying to the tango of agony. The blade soon fell from his hand as crimson came rushing out._

Seek medical help if;

_The blood is pumping – continue to apply pressure and call 911._

_The bleeding does not stop after 10 minutes of applying pressure._

_The cut is very large or very deep, or may require stitches._

He stared at the droplets, watching them with fascination as they course down her arm like rain against a window pane. He felt his emotions melting off of him, slowly numbing as he pushed away his melancholy if only for a second. Tired limbs and fatiguing body parts failed to move as he tried to move in a more comfortable position...

He bite his lower lip, head now resting on the counter as he slowly got up. He shook off his buzzed mind, noticing the bartenders concerned glances.

"Hey man, do you need me to call someone to get you?" He asked.

"Shnaw," he slurred, stumbling a little back. "I'm grweat."

The bartender snickered, taking up Reid's phone and dialing the last number called on the small black machine.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Morgan felt his cell buzzing in the pocket of his t-shirt. The man flipped open his black cell, putting it up to his ear as his coal eyes searched the road ahead of himself, Garcia sitting next to him tensed up in as sudden chills raced down her spine. Something bad was going to happen, she could feel it. Morgan snapped his phone shut, throwing it onto the dash board of his black SUV. He glared darkly at the road ahead of him, feeling the little girls eyes on him.

"It was a bar tender, seems Reid got drunk" Morgan said with an alarmingly calm voice.

"So, the kid got drunk. That's not so bad" Garcia tried to reassure the already very upset agent.

"Baby girl, pretty boy doesn't drink. Ever. When have you seen him drunk?"

"Uh..." He shook his head. "Well...no that was you..." She bit her fat red lip. "But he...no he drove my drunk butt home that time."

Morgan almost smirked at the little comment. "Yeah, he never gets drunk. So why now?"

"Maybe Hotch set him off?" Garcia suggested.

"No, it couldn't be" he sighed, gripping his steering wheel tighter. "God Ried, what's been bugging you?"

* * *

Reid felt strong arms wrap around his chest, pulling him from the safety of the ground. A sand papery voice grumbled in his ear about his drunk weight.

"Your mine now, isn't that right?" It said. Reid felt his mind start to race, his heart barely picking up pace as his slow limbs numbly moved up to try to push him off. "I'll be taking him home now."

"Alright! Let his friend know you got him" the bartender replied.

NO! Reid screamed in his head, trying to get his body to move but coming up empty. His heavy eyes slowly opened up, revealing a twisting world. God, what in the name of heaven and hell did he drink?

In a survey answered by hundreds of rape and sexual assault support agencies, they estimated that 93.7 percent of male rape perpetrators are male and _6.3 percent were female._

_1 in 10 rape victims are men_.

He felt his body suddenly spaz as he was thrown between the bar and the other building. An alley...so cliche. He felt warm hands traveling up his sides, slowly peeling off his warm coat and forcing his cardigan and buttoned down white shirt off. Reid could barely manage to figure out where he was exactly, he knew was that he was in an alleyway. Bright lights were ahead so he maybe was facing the parking lot. And all the while he is being violated, people who could help him are passing by. Going home to be fed and loved by family, all the while another victim loses his innocence. Just another problem to tack onto his life, right? He found himself trying to struggle again as he moved against the mans hands, he couldn't let this happen. No, he couldn't. He wouldn't be able to keep on living with more weight piled onto his shoulders, he had enough problems already.

Reid felt warm hands moving up his chest, strong palms feeling up his body. Reid let out a noise similar to a low growl, only making the man laugh. The man moved right on top of him, pinning his arms down and leaning down close. From this view he could see his attackers face, the ridges that curved around hard cheek bones. A pale face and bright envious green eyes smiled before him. The man above him adjusted his weight so he would be sitting on his abdomen, he tilted his head and with it some black hair fell to his side. Reid tried his best to move, finding it impossible as the man bent down, shoving his tongue in the younger boys mouth. The young profiler started squirming, his heavy limbs slowly trying to push the man off as his hips tried to buck him off. But resistance against the inevitable was futile. His body relaxed against the black pavement as his eyes looked at the sky rather than his attacked who was trailing sloppy kisses down his chest. He silently prayed, his mind focusing on an unknown force that would save him from such treachery. He needed a hero to save him now, but when? How? Any passing person would be of help, someone who could see this horrible situation and help him out.

The stars above him glowed brilliantly, little wishes ready to be commanded by their masters when to be granted. Reid looked at every star, deciding which one was the biggest and closed his eyes, wishing as hard as he could for this pain to end.

_47% of such rapes, both the victim and the perpetrator had been drinking. In 17%, only the perpetrator had been. 7% of the time, only the victim had been drinking. Rapes where neither the victim nor the perpetrator had been drinking were 29% of all rapes._

The young profiler felt his pants being yanked off as cold chilling air hit his legs, his attacker now using his own legs to pin down his victims. A flash of sudden warmth filled his spine as his body began to betray him. The man stroked his length, making the young profile to suddenly spaz and try to get away from him. But he was to strong, and the attacker ended up snickering.

"You dirty whore. You like this don't you? You want more, isn't that right? Dirty whore" he laughed.

"N-no" Spencer managed to say.

"No? Well except the facts, you like it when I do this to you. Look at the way your body's reacting, it's making you all-"

"Stop" Reid cut him off, his voice barely audible but the alleyway echoed his words.

"Don't worry, it always hurts the first time and I'll keep your secret safe with me."

Reid stared at the man in sudden bitter confusion, his mind trying to piece together what he said. What secret? He had no secrets...except that he had... Spencer pushed the thought away, now feeling his lower half being picked up. Panic spread through him as his leg spazzed, kneeing the man in his gut. The man fell backwards in slight surprise, staring at his victim as Reid pulled himself up. His limbs were still heavy as stones, but his mind was gathering itself up.

Brilliant lights flashed onto the decrepit alleyway, blinding Reid. He felt his attacked leap onto him, pain blossoming over his head as the man started punching him, pulling his shoulders up them slamming him against the pavement. Reid felt his body numbing again, a slow burning sensation encasing him. His right arm throbbed, burning as though he was thrown into a pit of fire. A whimper left his lips as a shadowy figure came from the vehicle.

"Hold up! This is the FBI, stop where you are right now and back away from the boy!" The authoritative voice of Morgan boomed down the alleyway. His attacker got up slowly, humiliated at his current naked apparel. Morgan grabbed the attacker, slamming him against the wall and ordered him to put his pants back on, cuffing him afterwards.

Reid noticed a plump figure slowly taking him up, helping his clothes on and taking him towards the bright lights. She cooed soft words to him as he noticed her familiar neon colors and blond pigtails. Garcia. Her figure in the headlights gave her the glow of an angel. He wanted to smile, but felt it to numb to do so. She took his right arm with gentle care, guiding him into the backseat, letting him lay there. Her lips were moving but it seemed no noise was coming out. A heavy peaceful state fell on him as his eyes closed.

Morgan slammed the attacker one more time for good measure as he called the police, ordering them over pronto before he gets tired of this sicko and decides to kill him. Reid, oh god, Reid. The kid was being beaten and possibly raped. How long had this been going on? How bad was his state in? A thin police man wiggled himself between Reid's attacker and Morgan, taking the man off to jail. Morgan turned around, rubbing his temple with a large mocha colored hand. The brilliant flashing of red and blues illuminated the scene, brushing over his own SUV where his friend was sleeping. The lights brightened up the boy wonders cuts and new bruises forming on the side of his head.

The older agent jogged back to his car, climbing in and slamming the door shut. The scent of rust and salt hit him-blood. Turning his head slightly he could see some crimson trickling down the side of the kids head, tired purple eyes closed. He took in a deep breath as Garcia put her coat over his cold limp body.

"Morgan," she said, her voice shaky and soft as she pulled up the kids right arm. "Look, what caused this?"

Morgan twisted his body around as baby girl pulled up his sleeve, there revealed long deep cuts. They were a deep crimson red, bleeding a little as they dribbled down his red skin. There's was so much red, too much. A lot of the cuts closer to his elbow were healed, almost gone. Morgan ran a hand over his bald head, slamming his hands onto the steering wheel in frustration, making his plump passenger jump.

"Sorry, it just..." He glanced at his friend, the boy he considered his younger quirky brother. "He could've told us, he could've gotten help. We should've seen the signs. Dammit we trained to identify depression!"

"It's okay, Morgan" Garcia cooed. "It's better late than never. At least we can get him help now."

"But how far did he have to suffer?" He brought the car to life, pulling out of the bars parking lot and moving down the highway.

"I-I don't know" Garcia pouted her lower lip.

"God, why is it always Reid?" Morgan asked the sky.

"Because he's our boy wonder? Because he needs to learn how to find true happiness?" Garcia offered up.

Morgan shrugged, his foot pressing harder on the black plastic petal as he raced down the street. Deciding it was best to turn on his lights, he raced faster. The kid was bleeding a lot and he needed medical attention right now.

"Garcia, call the rest of the team and let them know where we're heading" Morgan ordered.

"Yes sir" Garcia said as she flipped open her phone.


	4. Chapter 4

Whoops, forgot to put up the little thing:

Sadly I don't own Criminal Minds, this is just an alternate universe where fanfiction comes to life, enjoy~

Chapter Four

_Roughly 56,597,034 people leave the world every year. 155,000 a day._

Reid felt his mind slowly balancing between consciousness and unconsciousness, hearing a mixture of noises and sounds. At first there was panic as he felt his body being lifted and poked, something rubbed his arms, tugging tightly. He heard beeps, shouting, a mixture of calm voices telling him that everything was going to be okay; he was just fine; it was a success. He wondered what had happened, where he was at. Was he at a hospital? A home for the insane? He felt his finger twitch as he slowly came above the drug induced coma. Gaining control of his body parts, he forced tired eyes open, startled by the bright lights boring down on him.

The room was quite small, colored white on the walls, ceiling, and tiled floors. Two little blue chairs sat beside his bed, in those seats a sad faced Garcia and worried Hotch. Her bright blue eyes trailed over her boy wonders, bright pink lips quirking in a smile. As quick as a flash she was beside him, brushing loose strands of curly brown hair away from his face, a small tear falling from her eye.

"How are you feeling?" She asked in a gentle tone.

Reid stared at her at first, taking in deep breaths. "F-fine" he managed out. The bubbly blond smiled.

"That's my boy" she said. "I'm terribly sorry to say though, but mommys here to interrogate you."

"My mother?" Reid was taken aback a little. "She isn't aloud out of the hospital without-"

"Garcia no rude nicknames" Rossi's voice startled the boy wonder. Garcia moved away from her friend, taking her place back next to Hotch who was still looking over the young boy.

"Now, Dr. Reid," Rossi drew in the young boys attention. "Why didn't you come to get help."

"Rossi, with all due respe-" Hotch began.

"Agent Hotch, let me ask a few questions."

Reid stared at the higher up agent who was now weighing on one foot. "I-I didn-n't need h-help, or s-so I th-thought" he stuttered out.

"Dr. Reid, you knew that it was bad, you knew that you were hurting yourself and drawing attention from others. Is this what it's all about? Did you want attention of your corrupted life?" Rossi rose his voice.

"N-no! No! No..." Spencer panted. "I-I did it..." He shook his head, closing his eyes. Why did he do it? Why was he self-harming? "Self harming is an addiction...it was...the only way. The only way I could stop that one" he held his head in between his forearms. His body was shaking, a million emotions running through him at once.

"Is that it? You couldn't have your drugs so you took on another addiction?" Rossi glowered at the young profiler.

"It was to much to take, so much to do, so much pressure...bending, breaking...When someone cuts themselves, pain relieving chemicals called Endorphins are released to relieve stress or emotional pain. Most people who cut themselves have experienced problems in their backgrounds that may include low self-esteem, eating disorders, drug or alcohol abuse, impulsivity, neglectful parenting and other traumatic experiences. Many people who cut themselves also have a history of sexual or physical abuse."

"Reid stop-"

"Other self-injurers use it as a means of expressing anger because they feel better taking those feelings out on themselves rather than on others. Many actually enjoy the pain that they experience during the act of cutting."

"Stop it kid, please" Morgan pleaded.

"Millions of American teenagers and adults will voluntarily injure themselves today. Some will cut themselves with a knife or razor Others will burn their skin with matches or a cigarette. Some will hit themselves or bang their heads against a wall, or pull out their hair, or stick needles into or pick at their skin or break their own bones. Millions more will do this tomorrow, and next week, and during the coming year. While the majority consists of young women between ages 13 and 25, both men and women voluntarily injure themselves. Most do so from the early teens to mid-life and beyond. While they may occupy any position in society, nearly all have a common history—they were abused as children. Such abuses range from not receiving sufficient love and attention from alcoholic or mentally-ill parents, or being ignored by self-absorbed or physically-absent parents, to overt verbal, physical, or sexual abuse. The common denominator is that each of these victims feels severe, deep, and ongoing emotional pain."

A sharp pain knocked Reid from his repetitive rants on the text book knowledge of cutting. His eyes widened as he was thrown a little to his side, his cheek stinging. Garcia was shaking right in front of him, tears flooding down her round cheeks. Her hand slightly raised, a red discoloration filling it. She had slapped him. Little Garcia had hit her friend, her older quirky brother. She felt her lower lip tremble as she collided her body into his, hugging him tight.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't take it anymore" Garcia whispered into his hair. "Stop saying those scary facts, please."

Reid felt a smile wear his lips as he hugged her back. "Sorry" he managed to say without stuttering.

"It's okay, but your going to have to stay a few months in rehab. And then you'll have to take a phsyc eval. If you pass it you're welcome back, but you still will be under constant watch" Hotch informed.

"Yes sir" Reid nodded.

"Promise you'll get better" JJ said, leaning in the door way with Prentiss by her side, each woman holding a coffee.

"I promise" he smirked.

"Scouts honor?" Garcia laughed.

"You know what's interesting about Scouts Honor is that If a scout says "On my honour it is so," that means it is so, just as if he had taken a most solemn oath. And that-" Reid started up.

Morgan laughed, rubbing his friends head roughly. "Good to have you back pretty boy" he said.

Reid glared at his older friend, his brother; than at his new family. Adoring eyes echoing hope into the young profiler. He smiled, and finally the young profiler felt all the weight of the world coming off of him, melting away. Happiness and light filled his numb heart, warming up the ice that sat on his chest, melting away all the cold apathy and negative emotions. And he was ready for new emotions. However bitter they were, or no matter how sweet, he was ready for them. Because life was simply as it always was; beautiful.

* * *

Hotch says;

"There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds."

― Laurell K. Hamilton, Mistral's Kiss


End file.
